That afternoon, Nir-yat led Dar to the lorechamber. It was in the old part of the hall, and resembled a hanmuthi in its design, except that the adjoining rooms were not sleeping chambers. Instead, they were filled with shelves that were stacked with thin wooden boards, each approximately an arm’s length and a palm’s width. Dar had the impression that she had entered a carpenter’s storeroom, not a repository of knowledge. The center chamber was filled with tables, and these were also piled with boards. The lorekeeper was seated on a stool next to the central hearth, like a muthuri in her hanmuthi. She was gazing intently at a board on her lap and was startled when Dar spoke. “May Muth la bless you, Yev-yat.”
The mother immediately rose and bowed. “Shashav, Muth Mauk.”
Dar was surprised that a mother who looked only slightly older than Nir-yat was the lorekeeper. Yev-yat had exotic features. Her thin face made her green eyes look especially large, and her thick hair was jet-black, an unusual color among orcs. Lightly built, she was only Dar’s height. A brass object dangled from a cord about her neck. Dar, having never encountered a key before, assumed it was a pendant.
Yev-yat glanced approvingly at the talmauki on Dar’s nails and nipples. “It’s said that since you bit your sister’s neck you’ve grown in understanding. Now I see that for myself”
“Nir-yat has been most helpful,” replied Dar, who had ceased to be surprised by how rapidly news spread through the hall. “Yet I’ve much to learn.”
“Then you’ve come to good place. Instructing queens is one of my duties.” Yev-yat walked over to a table and picked up a board. Unlike most of the others, its surface was painted with white clay so the dark markings on it stood out plainly. She handed the board to Dar. “I’ve already prepared list of clan families.”
Dar examined the rows of marks on the board. They reminded her of those carved in the walls at Tarathank.
“Most humble family is written at top,” said Yev-yat.
Nir-yat looked over Dar’s shoulder, then turned the board in Dar’s hand. Dar blushed when she realized that she had been holding the writing upside down. “I’ve seen such marks before,” she said, “but I don’t know their meaning.”
“I’d be honored to teach you that skill,” said Yev-yat.
Dar handed the board to Nir-yat. “Show this to Gar-yat so she might begin planning my feasts.”
After her sister departed, Dar surveyed the room. “Does each board contain knowledge?”
“Hai, Muth Mauk. They’re called deetpahis.”
Dar broke down the word into “boards” and “speaking.” Yev-yat handed her a deetpahi. It was different from the one that listed the families. Its wood was unpainted and the marks were burned into its surface. The entire deetpahi had been covered with wax, which had darkened with age. “How does this wood speak to you?” Dar asked.
“Each mark is picture of sound. There are forty different marks, one for each sound in our speech.” Yev-yat touched a mark with a claw. “This one shows ‘mmm.’” She moved her claw down the row of marks. “This says mmm-oo-th-oo-rr-ee, muthuri.”
“This is useful knowledge,” said Dar. She gazed at the thousands of boards. “There’s much learning in this room.”
“There is, Muth Mauk, and I study it every day. I still have much to learn, and this place is tiny compared to Tarathank’s great lorehall. It’s said some of its deetpahis were made on first day of world.”
“I was at Tarathank, but I saw no place like this.”
“Washavokis burned that wisdom,” said Yev-yat, her voice as mournful as if the deed had occurred yesterday.
“When Muth-yat spoke to me about rebirth, she said she had learned its secrets from ancient texts. Are those texts here?”
“Hai, but they’re hard to understand. Their words sound strange to us.”
“Did you help her understand them?”
“I did, but Muth-yat hears only when she wants to listen. I warned her that those reborn have strange fates.”
“Like Velasa-pah?” When the lorekeeper failed to reply, Dar asked, “Has Muth-yat forbidden you to speak of him?”
“Deetpahis speak, not I. No matriarch can silence lorekeeper.”
“Yet you grew silent.”
“Tales of Velasa-pah are unsettling. When I spoke of him to Muth-yat, she grew angry.”
“Why?”
“Each deetpahi has its own voice, and they don’t always agree. Muth-yat wanted certainty, and I provided none. Perhaps you’ll be angry also. Little is certain about Velasa-pah.” “Was he wizard?”
“Hai. That much is common knowledge. Muth la sometimes speaks to sons, and such sons become wizards. Wisdom she gives them is different from that she shares with mothers. To Val-hak, she taught magic of sand ice. To Fluuk-jan, spells for forging steel.”
“What wisdom did Velasa-pah receive?”
“His gift was most unusual. He had knowledge of spirits. Washavokis called his skills ‘deep magic’ and feared him. He made stone that caused those who held it to relive memories of departed spirits. It’s also said he could foretell events.”
“What happened to him?”
“It’s written that he died when Tarathank fell.”
“Are there not other tales of his fate?”
Yev-yat’s eyes lit up. “Hai. Known to very few. Where do you hear them?”
“No one told me. I met Velasa-pah on my journey, and he seemed alive. He cooked food and made magic with feathers.”
Yev-yat looked alarmed, and for a moment Dar feared that the lorekeeper would behave like Meera-yat. “And Muth-yat knows this?”
“Hai,” replied Dar. “She’s known it for long time.”
“But you’re queen, now. That changes everything.”
“How?”
“That is difficult question, Muth Mauk. Ancient voices often disagree, making it hard to tell where wisdom lies.”
“Yet when I mention Velasa-pah, others are dismayed.”
Yev-yat did not reply immediately. Instead, she entered one of the adjoining rooms. She searched among the stacked deetpahis awhile until she found the one she was looking for. “This is deetpahi of Tarma-goth. She fled destruction of Tarathank and speaks of its last days.” Yev-yat placed the deetpahi on a table. Its wood had darkened so much that the marks burned into it were barely discernible. The lorekeeper ran her fingers along its surface, mumbling softly to herself. Then her fingers stopped. “Ah, here.. and on second moon, washavokis violated Muth la’s Embrace...She’s speaking of one enclosing Tarathank...and gave death to all they met. They slew queen and Fathma was lost. Then urkzimmuthi...This section I cannot read...but Velasa-pah refused, saying it was his fate to greet new queen.”
Yev-yat looked up. “Tarma-goth believed that Velasa-pah’s life would be preserved until new great mother arrived.”
The lorekeeper set the deetpahi carefully on a table. “In older deetpahis, this tale is called ‘Velasa-pah’s Promise’ or ‘Velasa-pah’s Oath.’ Only later was it named ‘Velasa-pah’s Doom.’ When Tarma-goth wrote, most urkzimmuthi had fled to Blath Urkmuthi, but some still dwelled in ancient homeland. Because Velasa-pah remained behind, it was said that next great mother would arise from that place. Yet, as time passed, that hope faded. Our homeland filled with washavokis who brought only death with them. In time, urkzimmuthi no longer looked westward.”
“Except Pah clan,” said Dar.
“Where did you learn this?”